


someone you can't stand

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Deepthroating, Drunk Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but not particularly rooted in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 16:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux just wanted a drink to steady his nerves.Unfortunately, Ren has a bad habit of interrupting any attempts he makes to have some privacy.





	someone you can't stand

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of evolved from a simple idea about first time blowjobs and Hux discovering his innate, drunken deep-throating talent. 
> 
> Probably the darkest, most dysfunctional exploration of Kylux I've done so far. Which is funny, considering I also posted some tooth rotting fluff today. The power of fanfic, I guess.

It all starts with a bottle of Alderaan Ruge Liqueur.

Hux has been keeping it for awhile now, tucked away in a special safe within his quarters. Over thirty years old, dreadfully rare and expensive, and unopened. Hux is fairly certain he must have one of the only bottles left in existence in the entire galaxy. He promised himself he would only pour himself a glass of the stuff when he finally achieved all, or _most_ of his personal goals. In his mind, he’d always held the image of himself—bedecked in imperial black and gold, flush with supremacy, and supping upon a rich red glass of liquor costlier than most lower-class planets—particularly close.

But with his career in shambles, reputation amongst his subordinates tarnished and his loathsome rival in command of the entire damned Order, Hux thinks he’s earned the right to finally crack it open.

With trembling hands Hux sets the bottle on the counter, fingerprints leaving clean marks in the dust as he fishes for a glass in one of his cabinets. Hux thought he would have more time to track down the proper drinkware for savoring such a rare spirit, but all he has at present are heavy-bottomed, slightly flared glasses meant for scotch and ice. It’ll have to suffice.

He untwists the metal ties from around the cap and rummages in the drawer for his hooked bottle opener, deftly wedging it beneath the crimped edge. After a moment of hesitation, Hux pops the liquor open, the sound echoing resolutely throughout his silent quarters.

Red mist drifts from the mouth of the bottle as Hux lets the cap clatter to the countertop. Ruge Liqueur is best consumed neat, at or just below room temperature. He usually enjoys a cooler drink but since he’s already gone and opened what very well might be the last bottle of the stuff in the entire galaxy, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t enjoy it just how it’s meant to be.

Hux tips his glass as he pours the liquor, watching the deep red liquid drip down the sides and collect at the weighty bottom. He can smell it already—strongly alcoholic, with a touch of bitter stone fruit—altogether not unpleasant, though he can certainly tell it’s been trapped in that bottle for a _very_ long time.

Maybe the liquor has matured to such a degree that its potency could kill him. At the very least, it’ll get him hammered enough to erase his troubles for a brief, blissful while.

Hux stops pouring when the glass is filled by a third, wanting to sample it before he starts chugging it like a madman. He brings the rim up to his lips, watching the glass’s depths swirl as he agitates it, like a maroon maelstrom beckoning Hux closer. He picks out notes of mulled spices as he sniffs, then tips it back and takes a quick, preliminary sip.

The alcohol hits his tongue like enemy fire on the broadside of a star destroyer, and he nearly chokes at the strength, unexpected though he’d tried to steel himself for it. Despite this he pushes through it, swallowing the first sip before going in for a second—this time longer, heartier. It grows easier as his tongue gets used to such a fierce tingling.  

Hux smacks his lips.

It’s good. He misses the smoky tannins of his usual scotch a bit, but enjoys the syrupy mouthful that coats his tongue and the inside of his throat as he swallows it down. _Perfect_ , he needs something heady to drown out his current misery.

Hux grabs the bottle with his other hand and ambles from the kitchen to the living room, sinking down atop his couch with a relaxed sigh. He can already feel the alcohol settling into his system—he’s no lightweight, despite his stature, but it’s strong and he’s already drunk a fair amount. That doesn’t stop him from pouring more once he drains half the glass, careful not to spill it on the guileless blue of his couch.

But just when Hux feels he’s really getting a good buzz going, the key to his door _blips_ softly. He furrows his brow at the sound, glancing over. Typically, the security system will only notify Hux when someone wants his attention, or is trying and failing to input the access code to his quarters. If it’s the former, they’ll usually contact his comlink rather than make the trek all the way here, but he’s received no messages.

Puzzled, and growing more than a little bit tipsy, Hux waits to see if it was perhaps just a fluke, or a glitch in the notifications. But sure enough, a couple seconds later, the system sounds again. Hux listens closely, just barely making out a muffled, frustrated voice from beyond the door.

Suspicion prickles at the back of his neck. If he’s correct, then he _really_ does not want to get up and answer the culprit behind the failed break-in. But if Hux doesn’t he may risk the implementation of more severe means, and then he’ll have to deal with a broken door on top of everything else. With all internal resources dedicated to salvaging the wreck of the _Supremacy_ and the rest of their shattered fleet, it might be awhile before it gets fixed.

So, reluctantly, Hux totters to his feet, using the arm of his couch to properly steady himself, and makes his way to the entrance. The security system beeps a few more times, erratically, as if the person on the other side is quickly losing patience, so Hux presses his hand to the small pad and lets the door open up.

He’s not surprised by who he sees on the other side, but not that he’s all too enthused by it either. He could go the rest of his life without Ren’s gloomy visage darkening his doorstep ever again.

“The hell are you doing here?” Hux mumbles, far less professionally than is probably advisable. He’s not feeling particularly inclined towards Ren at the moment, for obvious reasons, but he should at the very least attempt politeness and magnanimity, lest things grow even worse for him.

But _graciously_ , Ren doesn’t throttle him like he did last time, nor toss him around like the toy of a furious child. Instead, he merely stands, eyes widened a little in surprise, as if he had not expected to see Hux drunken and barely able to balance on two feet. That makes him scoff inwardly. Ren must be particularly dense if he doesn’t understand the reason why Hux has been driven to drink.

“I thought we could...talk,” Ren starts, as if this is some kind of romantic drama. Hux _does_ actually scoff at that. _Talk_. The time for talking has long passed, he thinks.

“About what? Do you need further assistance consolidating your reign, _Supreme Leader_ , or do you think everyone is sufficiently frightened of you now?” Hux hadn’t been the only one to weather the anger of the Order’s new master, though perhaps he’d been served the brunt of it. Thankfully those bruises had quickly faded to yellow, though with his current loose attitude he’s at great risk for accruing more.

But still Ren doesn’t try to reprimand him, physically or otherwise, and the offended look on his face is more petulant than furious. He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see the great _General Hux_ drunk.”

The way Ren’s voice drags sardonically over _great_ has Hux prickling. He says he wants to _talk_ , but he’s not particularly interested if Ren is going to continue to lord his new power over him. Hux will be civil, if only to protect his life, but surely he’s earned a _moment_ of intoxicated comfort without this blasted man’s interference.

“Well, if you expect me to put on some kind of spectacle for you, you’re mistaken,” Hux grumbles, leaning heavily on the doorframe. _Stars_ , he’s properly soused now. How much of that bottle had he drained. A third? A half?

Ren better not take long. He can’t waste the liquor now that it’s already opened. It’ll go flat and sour if he’s not careful.

“I’m not. But I’m also not sure how coherent you’re going to be in a few minutes. Might need to change my plans.”

“As if you know anything about plans,” Hux scoffs, resting his temple against his hand, “you practically _fell_ into power.”

He’s being openly aggravating now, his usual inhibitions against self-sabotage lowered. Maybe a part of him _wants_ Ren to snap his neck in a rage, to end it.

But although anger flitters across Ren’s naked expression, he doesn’t raise his hand and strip the breath from Hux’s throat. He only places it on his hip and tilts his head, wavy hair rustling.

“I’ve had you on my mind recently, General. I thought perhaps we could clear the air, but now…”

“Now _what?_ ” Hux bites, hoping the acrimony of his tone fends Ren off. But the Supreme Leader stays, squaring his shoulders in the doorway, almost completely filling the frame and blacking out the hallway behind him.

“Now...I’m not sure what I should do with you…”

“Why would you do anything at all with me?” Hux rolls his tongue around, feeling the looseness in his mouth. The scent of musky ozone wafts off Ren—strong, as if he’s trying to knock Hux over. Despite the unbalancing effects of the alcohol, Ren’s going to have to do a lot better if he wants to achieve that. Maybe Ren will toss him into a wall again for his insolence. When movements shift in the folds of the cloak filling out his doorway, Hux readies himself for just that.

The next couple moments happen in a blur.

Partially in thanks to the alcohol, but also due in no small share to the fact that Ren starts _kissing_ him, mashing those large and soft lips that Hux, in moments of insanity, has desired. He arches his back, perhaps in an attempt to get away, but Ren follows him, consuming him, his arms wrapping around Hux’s waist until he reciprocates the kiss. He can feel Ren shove his tongue inside, trying to overpower him, and he places his hands against the Supreme Leader’s bulging chest in an attempt to push back. His own tongue flexes back against Ren’s, teeth digging into that plush pink lower lip in return.

The door behind them hisses shut, confronting Hux with the inescapable knowledge that he has _Ren_ in his private quarters, that they’re kissing frantically like two men trapped out in the vacuum of space sharing limited air between them, that he’s growing stiff in his jodhpurs. He should feel utterly disgusted and ashamed with himself, with the fact that he apparently _wants_ this, despite all the ugly history between him and Ren.

Blowing the man who torched all his future ambitions and ripped control of the Order out of his hands, who throttled and humiliated him in front of his men, is probably one of the more befuddling ideas Hux has ever had. And yet he shoves Ren onto the couch and stumbles onto his knees, Hux’s hands quickly occupying the crotch of the man’s pants and unfastening them.

“General,” Ren starts, hand lifting as if to stop him, but Hux _shushes_ him sloppily as he leans in between his legs. He needs to get on with it before regret catches up with him. After a moment of fiddling, Hux manages to get Ren’s pants open, delving his fingers into the fly to feel at his groin. He wears the same undergarments as Hux does underneath, the black fabric stretched thinly over the root of his cock.

“Is...is that what you’ve been drinking…?” Ren asks, as if trying to change the subject even as Hux strokes him through his undergarments. He nods without even looking.

“Yes…s’good stuff…you made me break it open,” Hux slurs, not wanting to dwell on the reason he turned to drink in the first place, and peels away the last of Ren’s layers, letting his cock finally spring free.

It’s massive.

Though, really, Hux has no definitive metric by which to judge whether Ren’s size is unnatural or not, with only his own cock and faint memories of when he would snatch looks at other Academy boys in the barracks. But it nearly matches the length of his hand from the tip of his middle finger down past the butt of his palm, and feels weighty and firm. Much like the neck of the liquor bottle, but warmer. Alive.

 _Large_. For a moment, Hux rethinks his current plan, the squashed sober voice near the back of his skull reminding him of his dearth of sexual prowess. Career had long taken precedence over any physical pleasures he couldn’t supply himself. Even those had fallen to the wayside lately, with the stress of Starkiller, Crait, _everything_.

He stops thinking so hard. He’s earned this.

Hux peeks his tongue out between his lips, trying to determine how best to tackle Ren’s cock. With little—in fact, _no_ expertise when it comes to this specific act, he’s unsure, but also unwilling to let Ren realize his lack of skill. Even drunk, he’s confident enough he can hack it.

He decides to start from the tip, as that seems the most logical point of attack. Opening his mouth and letting his tongue loll out slightly over his lower lip, Hux leans in to envelop the head of Ren’s cock.

It tastes odd, like salty skin, but the lingering alcohol in his numb mouth makes it more palatable, easier to ignore. Hux licks at the nacreous little bead of precum, eyebrows furrowing at the texture of it. He’d watched pornographic holos in which slender little humanoids had practically _lathered_ in the stuff like lotion. He thought the reality might be a little more appealing, but perhaps that’s his mistake.

But the drunken fog in his brain and the offending lust brewing in his loins make it easier to ignore such paltry unpleasantries. As he takes more of Ren’s cock into his mouth, he finds he kind of enjoys the weight on his tongue, as well as the needy groans falling from the Supreme Leader’s lips. It reminds Hux of some of his more ambitious fantasies, where _he_ sits on Snoke’s own throne, with Ren on all fours, bleeding and moaning and serving as a rest for his polished boots. Unfortunately, it appears in reality their positions are flipped.

Hux isn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he merely leaves one gripping Ren’s pant leg, the other lightly encircling the base of his cock as he suckles half of it into his mouth. It’s not quite as long as Hux feared, just unreasonably thick. He licks at the shaft, hollowing his cheeks and trying to keep every inch of it covered in slick pressure.

“ _General_ …” Ren’s voice shudders, his own large hands curling into the cushions of Hux’s couch. Through the blurry mush his mind has dissolved into, Hux realizes it’s strange to see him enthralled in sexual bliss. Much like how he perceived himself, Hux had always viewed Ren as a sexless being, focused only on his lust for power. Far more volatile than Hux, sure, but single-minded, almost _above_ such human pleasures. And yet the both of them are here, rosy and lascivious as any youthful cadet on shore leave.

Hux looks up from under his lashes at Ren, fuzzily observing the way his wavy hair flits about his neck as he tosses his head. His throat strains, pulsing with breath. Clearly, Hux is doing _something_ right. After all, Ren has no reason to play along if he’s getting enjoyment out of it.  

Hux downcasts his eyes, dragging them over the terrain of Ren’s body before focusing back on his cock. He’s built well, Hux can tell even with the thick padding of his tunic in the way. He thinks he might like to appreciate the inert strength in that body, rather than suffer the anger it usually wields.

Hux drags his teeth a little along the shaft of Ren’s cock, unsure if this is the way to do it or if he would even enjoy it, and partially not caring. Ren has harmed him plenty ever since his ascent to the top of the Order. He can handle a bit of pain against his cock—especially considering he was foolish enough to allow Hux to take it into his mouth.

The fact that he could clamp down right now and potentially mangle Ren’s manhood forever sends a sick little thrill of power through Hux, though it’s tempered a bit as the man lets out a pleasured moan at the barest scrape of teeth. Ren _likes_ it, doesn’t he? _Disturbed miscreant._  

But Hux isn’t much better. He knows it. After all, he relishes in the way Ren’s cock fills his entire mouth, almost stretching his lips out around his girth. The hinge of his jaw aches a little bit, unused to such movement save for in the furious heart of his speeches, but he presses onwards, bobbing his head up and down as he lavishes warmth and saliva all over Ren’s shaft.

Perhaps alcohol has transformed him into some kind of oral sex auteur. Or maybe it’s just melted his inhibitions, or his sanity, to the point where he doesn’t care to hold back. Or maybe Ren has low standards, and only wants a warm, wet mouth to fuck.

 _Whatever_. He doesn’t care about Ren’s feelings, does he? If he even has them. Considering how monstrously the man behaves, it’s up for debate.

Hux thinks he’s doing a fairly decent job in the physical sense at least, as he bobs his mouth up and down Ren’s cock, but apparently it’s not enough for the brute because he grabs his hair, messing up the already untidy locks further, and drags him closer. Hux’s throat closes instinctively once he realizes what Ren wants, unused to such a threat. He digs his fingers into the bunched fabric of Ren’s pants, shaking his head imperceptibly, but the hand in his hair only tightens.

 _Push through it, Hux_ , he reminds himself, trying to take breaths through his nose to tamp down the initial panic. Gradually, the muscles his his throat loosen, and he allows Ren to slide in all the way, a gratifying moan tumbling from the man’s lips.

As Hux opens up for him, the need in his own stomach erupts, writhing like a nest of hungry serpents. The way Ren’s cock fills him, compressing his windpipe and fucking so deeply into his body, drives Hux wild in a way he never anticipated before. Almost by instinct, his throat constricts rhythmically around the intrusion in his throat, forced to welcome it.  

“ _More_ , Hux, more,” Ren rasps, rutting his hips up off the couch, not content with just the warm pressure around his cock. Miraculously, Hux manages to hang on and continue to bob his head in time with Ren’s movements, letting him fuck his throat with ease. Tears collect in the corners of Hux’s eyes, building but not yet breaking out over his cheeks, and thank the stars for that. He’s already a drunken, slatternly _mess_ , he’s not willing to add sobbing to that shameful pile just yet. Not that it will save much of his respectability.

If the alcohol won’t kill him, maybe he can just choke on this cock instead.

Finger nearly tug his hair out of its roots when Ren finally comes, the head of his member ramming back into Hux’s throat one last time before rebounding back and filling his mouth with a flood of warm fluid. Hux tries to keep it all in, but his lips are fucked loose and barely able to close in time. Pearly threads dribble down to his chin as he tries to swallow the bit in his mouth down his abused throat as Ren pulls his cock away. The last little gasps of cum streaks onto his cheek, fouling the drunken flush there. Hux pants, lower lip jutting out in disgust, unsure what to do to clean his face.

“ _Fuck_ , Hux, you look so good,” Ren groans, voice gravelly and cascading over Hux’s back. It must be the first compliment Ren has ever given him, and all it took was sucking his cock. Too bad he hadn’t realized that beforehand, and avoided all the other unpleasantness.

Now that Hux is through with Ren, he’s not sure what else to do with him, but apparently the Supreme Leader has other ideas. As Hux leans his head back, hands braced lightly on those powerful knees, Ren surges off the couch, trying to pin the general back against the table and, consequently, knocking it and everything atop it askew.

Hux jerks his head over his shoulder but before either of them can react, the bottle of liquor topples from the edge of the table and onto the floor, shattering in half. Something in Hux’s stomach rips at the sound, and suddenly he forgets about the mess on his face or anything else in the galaxy. Even the sound of Ren swearing as he release Hux and rises to his feet, sounds distant and swimming under heavy meters of water.

Hux stares at the broken, dark glass, its cracks and jagged edges glistening in the dim light of his quarters, its burgundy contents bleeding all over the floor, staining deep into the grain of the greyed hardwood and spreading into the thin rug beneath the table. His fingers tremble, even when he rakes them through the soaked material as if he could salvage even a drop, and the tears in his eyes quickly swell to burst, mingling with the mess of ruinous ejaculate on his face. _It’s gone._

Hux’s throat tightens around a sob, heedless of hands on his shoulders and gruff, murmuring apologies. It won’t help assuage his numb, drunken mind, as it repeats over and over again—

— _Thirty years of life, only to be spoiled so quickly._

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
